Amen

Summary: Carlisle Cullen, a young Anglican man with his entire future ahead of him, finds himself an unwilling leader of a small team charged by Pastor Cullen to hunt and kill the vampires in London. Can Carlisle succeed on this mission, a mission his entire future rests upon?

Notes:
My first Twilight fanfiction, featuring one of my favorite characters from the Twilight cast. First story in a series called Afterlife.Amen - (interjection) so be it

2. Part II

Friday night approaches too quickly. Father, suffering from another weak spell, charges me to lead the mangy group of six to investigate the vampire that lives in our sewers.

Sunday night’s supper was spent solely on discussing the behaviors and characteristics of vampires, blood-suckers. Tuesday night, Father told me of his plan to capture the vampire, and I haven’t slept a wink since. Wednesday, I had pleaded with him, desperate to change his mind, but he was adamant. Finally, tired of my begging, Father hit me. Not hard, but he had not laid an unloving finger on me since I was ten. Since then, I dared not bring up the subject.

As we gather in the church for prayer before our mission, I refuse to meet her eyes, for I fear what I will see in them. Devotion to her God? Sorrow for what may happen? Or, God forbid, indifference toward it all?

Father leads us in prayer, calling upon the love and watchful eyes of our Lord. ‘Tis blasphemy, but at this moment, I do not care for God. All I care about is getting her home safely.

“Amen.”

I stand up with the others, and finally I look in my comrades’ eyes. In some, I see utter fear: fear of the unknown and fear for what this foul creature may do to them. In others, I see an iron determination to protect their families and their God. In one, I see a vacant stare as if all the flowers in the world could never cheer her up again.

Mr. Landon is speaking into her ear, and I hear some of the words, “…God’s will…your duty.” The pain I feel in my heart is indescribable.

I see myself take the cross Father offers me as well as the cup of holy water. The five men and one woman are similarly armed, some wearing rosaries around their necks. He blesses me solemnly and does the same to all the others. I shuffle forward and mumble, “Let us go.” I walk past Father without so much as a glance.

I lead our army toward the Thames, which makes its presence known with its stench. When we arrive at the last of the buildings, Anna wordlessly takes a torch from Fredericks. Without a good-bye, she moves forward, the light from her torch surrounding her as if a shield. I train my eyes on the light, seeing it inch closer and closer to the edge of the Thames.

However, only halfway there, the flames of the torch flicker in a certain direction, as if someone has just run past. Beyond our help, Anna feels it too, for she turns, her eyes wide open in horror. The flames dance again, and Anna whirls wildly, finally losing the calm she had so strongly showed.

A laugh, comparable to the chimes of the church bells, echoes.

In the silence of the night, we could all hear the sickly sweet voice in the darkness, “Hello, there.”

No one dares to breathe.

I see Anna staring at something in front of her, her arms paralyzed at her sides. The flame of her torch continues to flicker oddly as if she is surrounded by a force we cannot see.

“Come closer, dear. We won’t bite.” The musical voice chuckles.

I am overwhelmed with the impulse to move toward the creature, and I am not the only one. Several men behind me shuffle nervously as if their feet itch to move them closer to the enemy.

However, Anna, the closest to the voice and most vulnerable to the power dripping from each word, moves two shaky steps closer.

“Come.”

Another three steps, and a man steps into the light right in front of Anna. Two others emerge into the light on each side of Anna. The middle one has gotten rid of the coat and the hat, but from his stance, I know this is the same man I had seen.

The devil’s creatures are the most beautiful men I have ever seen. Though their shirts are tattered and their forearms smudged with human filth, I can see their magnificent muscles and stone-hard chests. Their faces all have the similar chiseled complexion, as if they were born from the hands of the same sculptor. Their upturned lips form not a cheery smile but curiously make me relax. They sport dark indentations underneath their eyes, similar to those of my father when he does not sleep.

What captures my attention instantly, however, is how coal-black their eyes, void of any emotion, are.

“As you can see,” the leader says, his lips moving so fluidly, “we have not fed in several days.” His head tilts to the side as he stares at the entranced Anna curiously. “Are you an angel, a gift, from the God who shows compassion even to His counterpart’s servant?” His laugh, though pleasantly sarcastic, contains a strong malice that makes me wince. “What say you, Jonas? Shall we share her with our coven?”

The man on Anna’s left, one whose face begins to show traces of ravenous hunger, replies, “They will find their own prey. We shall have ours before they return.”

As if satisfied with Jonas’ answer, the leader moves forward. “This will not hurt.”

I watch as the unusually tall man lowers his head, as his lips approach those of Anna’s, and the spell he had put on me breaks. Silently and furiously, I light my own torch, and the others behind me do the same. I feel my blood boil and my heart pound as I sprint out, screaming like a banshee, never letting my eyes off that Godless creature.

They seem genuinely startled to see our group, firelight leading our way, emerge from the darkness, as if Anna’s presence demanded their full attention. Our vampire’s gaze darts from us to Anna, torn between killing us and drinking her. His fellows glare at us fiercely, frustrated that their meal has been cut short. From the tales Father told me, I know they could have fled before we circled them, and strangely, they had not.

My men hold their crosses out like shields as they cower slightly in the statue-like figure of the man whose hand still clutches Anna’s arm. But I hold my cross like a weapon.

“Let her go,” I command in a steely voice I hardly recognize.

The man – vampire – stares at our crosses and bottles of holy water and lets out a deep, throaty laugh. Smirking and looking oddly amused, he releases Anna’s arm. Still under the influence of his presence, Anna remains where she is, her eyes cloudy.

Frederick hesitantly reaches out, giving Anna’s arm a sound slap. Jolted from the hypnosis, Anna jumps and, after realizing where she is, breaks the circle, hysterically running for the safety of the city.

Wary, I turn my attention back on the three vampires, whose eyes impossibly became blacker. “I do enjoy a game of catch every now and then,” Jonas says thirstily. All signs of amusement drained from his face.

The rest happens so quickly. Jonas and his friend pounce on two men as the leader strides in the direction where Anna had run. Shouts erupt as the other three men try to rescue their comrades, bewildered at how their weapons could fail them. However, I only have eyes for the leader, the one who had threatened Anna, and I break off from the group, determined to keep Anna safe.

He does not run fast, not as fast as he could. Whether he is taunting me or genuinely too hungry to dart after Anna, I do not know. In the dimly lit streets, I see his figure moving constantly away from me. I have yet to see Anna, and I silently pray she is safe.

Behind me, I hear the remaining men, only three, hurry after me. Mentally, I urge them to catch up, yet I dare not slow down.

I see the vampire slip into an alley, the cramped lane Anna had been told to follow all the way to Mr. Amherst’s home. Adrenaline rushing, I pick up my speed. Anna could not have reached home yet. She could not have –

As I turn the corner, a force unimaginably strong knocks me off my feet. The shock has me paralyzed, unable to fight. For a flash of a second, I feel his hot breath fleetingly enveloping my body, faintly aware of shouts from my friends. An instant later, a prickling sensation stings my neck, my arm, and my chest. I feel a cold, malevolent force flow rapidly through my veins, those shouts now turning into blood-curdling screams.

The cold feeling is replaced by a hot, searing pain comparable to the pain I had felt in my chest earlier in the church. The yells are dying out, one by one. One shriek fades rapidly, as if the man is being carried away.

Silence rings in my ears. I am numb from the pain, and when I believe it over, a fresh wave of intolerable, pulsing agony washes over me. The stillness of the night is broken again by a particularly chilling scream that seems to travel through my very bones, and I am sure that it came from my open mouth. Though impossible, the anguish intensifies, and in a flash of white-hot pain, consciousness fades away.